


Freakshow

by oh_imintrouble



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Needs a Hug, Crowley Being an Asshole, Dean before hell, Fallen Castiel, First fic in YEARS, Hurt Castiel, I'm bad at tags, M/M, freakshow au, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_imintrouble/pseuds/oh_imintrouble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d always enjoyed looking down at the humans, always marveled at just how amazing they were. While some were vicious enough to bring him to tears, he always believed that overall they were good. They needed guidance, sure, but so did he. No one was beyond hope. No one was undeserving of salvation. At least that’s what he thought from the safety of his cloud. When he fell, he should have been able to pick himself back up, to live a new life without restraint. He would get to experience what it was like to live without feeling the disapproving gaze of his brothers and sisters, of his Father. He would be able to blend into a crowd, to be just like everyone else instead of a rebel, a freak. Unfortunately, fate had other things in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write this for months so I hope everyone enjoys it! :D

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d always enjoyed looking down at the humans, always marveled at just how amazing they were. While some were vicious enough to bring him to tears, he always believed that overall they were good. They needed guidance, sure, but so did he. No one was beyond hope. No one was undeserving of salvation. At least that’s what he thought from the safety of his cloud. When he fell, he should have been able to pick himself back up, to live a new life without restraint. He would get to experience what it was like to live without feeling the disapproving gaze of his brothers and sisters, of his Father. He would be able to blend into a crowd, to be just like everyone else instead of a rebel, a freak. Unfortunately, fate had other things in mind.

Of all the places on Earth, Castiel fell in a lake somewhere in Kansas. He managed to bring himself to the surface, lungs burning as he finally took in a sharp inhale of breath. He pushed himself forward, struggling towards the dock, and finally pulled himself out of the water. Castiel flopped onto his back, chest heaving with labored breath, and shivered. His wings were soaking wet, a sensation he’d never felt before, and one that he didn’t particularly like.

When he was able to get his breathing under control, he pushed himself to his feet, his whole body shaking in the cool autumn breeze. He wrapped his arms around himself, and started walking. He didn’t have the slightest of clues where he was going, but he knew it would be better than where he’d come from.

He was free. He could do whatever he wanted now. Sure, it would take some adjusting, but he had faith that at least a church would welcome him with open arms. He could find a church, and stay with them until he could make it on his own.

The lake he’d fallen in was evidently in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dense forests without a single sign of human life in sight. He shivered again as a breeze moved through the trees, his skin prickling with goosebumps. Then he saw something between the trees, a flash of bright orange ducking behind a tree.

“H-hello?” Castiel called, surprised by not only how gravelly his voice was but the pain he felt in his throat. 

There was some rustling and a couple muffled voices, before a man stood in his line of sight. He was far enough away to make it difficult for the angel to make out his features, but not far enough for him to miss the words that slipped out of his mouth.

“What the hell?” He was quiet at first, but he raised his voice as he moved closer. “What are you doing out here, boy? And what’s with-” he stopped dead in his tracks before Castiel, his eyes wide. “Are those- those aren’t-”

Castiel flushed under his gaze, worry striking him down to his core, and he swallowed a lump building in his throat. “H-hello,” he stopped, struggling to clear his throat when he realized how dry it was--how long had he been walking? “My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord.”

The man looked him over--but pointedly avoided looking anywhere below the nude man’s waist--before settling again on his wings. “You expect me to believe that? Y’know only a crazy man would be runnin’ around these parts during huntin’ season without a vest,” he pointed out, glancing back to where his companion still stood. “C’mon Earl, we should get goin’. I wanna take this guy to the station, see if they can figure out who he really is.”

Castiel frowned, his brows furrowed. Did he not believe him? What reason did he have to lie about something like this? “Station?” He echoed, cocking his head at him. He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that… The angel took a tentative step back, his heart feeling like it would beat right out of his chest. “That is quite alright. I can manage on my own,” he said, his eyes never leaving the man’s. “Could...could you point me in the direction of the nearest church?” Then his gaze caught what he had in his hands.

He knew far too well what that weapon was. Since it was first invented he saw the destruction it created, the lives it crossed cut short in its path. There weren’t many other things he loathed as much as guns. 

The hunter sighed, raising his free hand to rub his temple. “Boy you don’t seem right in the head, do you really think a church can help that?”

He gave a curt nod, lips forming a tight line.

“If you think so. Look here,” he said, moving to stand beside him, and pointed towards their right, “go straight that way for about a mile and you’ll hit the highway. There’s some kinda chapel east of the mile marker.”

“Thank you. I will not forget the help you have provided.” Castiel allowed his tense muscles to relax, and nodded again, simply glancing at the man before heading in the direction he gave. In the end, people truly were good.

The angel only stopped when he was sure he was out of sight. He stood against a large tree, and looked down at himself, frowning at what he saw. He must have hit something--or several somethings--because his chest, ribs, and arms were littered with bruises, the occasional cut also making an appearance on his pale skin. It was no wonder the man was questioning him. He looked a mess.

He just had to find the church, seek out help from the faithful, and he can get back on his feet. Castiel would express his gratitude, of course, do whatever he can to help everyone there--along with the kind man who pointed him in the direction he needed.

Castiel sighed and stretched his wings, hoping to shake the remaining water from the black feathers, before again walking towards the road. It was only another 10 minutes before the forest dissipated, leaving before him an expanse of concrete. He saw the mile marker he was told about, and turned towards the rising sun in search of the chapel. A little white building with a wooden cross above the door came into view, and Castiel found himself smiling. Refuge.

He wasted no time in taking the few stairs there were up to the door, knocking rather boldly before waiting on the doorstep. When the door opened he held his hands up to the woman before him, hoping he could explain himself. By the look on her face, with her wide eyes and pale expression, he wasn’t sure she would be too willing to listen.

“Do not be alarmed. I need your help,” he said, a seriousness in his eyes. 

He could see her throat move with a strained swallow, her gaze wandering up and down his body. “You… it can’t be…”

“May I come in?” 

She nodded, though her body trembled in what Castiel noted as fear. He’d never been close enough to someone to see them experience fear. The way their pupils dilated, skin paled and goosebumps formed. As if they could make themselves seem more predatory and successfully defend themselves with just a change in posture and a look in their eyes.

The angel slowly moved around her, careful to not jostle the obviously still on edge individual, and looked around the inside of the building. It was a modest church, a couple dozen wooden pews lined the room, leading to a podium up front that sat before a mural. Castiel made his way up the aisle, his head held high. The mural was fairly simple, clouds high above the podium, nestled up against the ceiling, with cherubs flying near them. Below the tiny angels was what looked like a rendition of the Garden of Eden, a tall tree in the center with a red apple hanging low. Underneath the grass and soil was...fire. A grim depiction of what these people must have perceived hell.

Castiel swallowed thickly, and looked back at the woman, putting a smile back on his face. “This is a lovely place of worship. Is it just you here?”

She shook her head, arms crossed protectively over her chest. “My husband is in his office. I...I-I think he may have a change of clothes if you would like?” She offered, making his heart squeeze. She was afraid, of course she would be, and yet she still offered to help him.

“Please. And thank you, for your hospitality.”

The woman simply nodded, giving the smallest of smiles, before disappearing through a doorway between a row of pews, the archway giving way to a long hallway. While she was gone he tried to focus again on something, anything really, but the mural. His attention was brought back to the arch when he heard heavy footsteps, storming into the room.  
Who Castiel perceived to be the preacher stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide in shock. His shock soon gave way to awe, his gaze completely void of fear unlike his frail wife.

“Lord Almighty, I thought I may be dreamin’ this morning. But here you are,” he said, opening his arms to the angel. “If this is a test of my faith, believe me when I say...thank you.” The preacher was an older man, balding but hiding it under a toupee--which was currently slipping from its rightful place due to his running--with a decent amount of hair still on his upper lip. His cheeks were rosy, his eyes kind, and he seemed to be carrying a bit more weight around his midsection than the hunters Castiel had encountered earlier had. 

Castiel smiled and gave a slight nod, his cheeks flushed. The other man’s gaze held nothing but adoration, his smile causing the wrinkles around his eyes to be more prominent. “Were you questioning?” He finally asked, referring to his gratitude.

The preacher looked almost sheepish as he adjusted his hair piece, the rosiness in his cheeks spreading to the rest of his features. “The church hasn’t been doing too well--we’ve lost so many good men and women, people who once loved to hear our sermons. Now I don’t know what changed, but we seem to be getting less and less guests every Sunday. And...and forgive me for this, but I started to question my own faith. I thought maybe I hadn’t done a good enough job spreading His word, and I was being punished.”

He felt an unfamiliar squeeze in his heart as he reached towards the man, setting his hands on his arms. The preacher had begun to wring his hands together, gripping so tightly Castiel could see the whites of his knuckles. At his touch however he loosened his grip, visibly relaxing before the angel. “You are a good man. I assure you you are not being punished.”

The elderly man wiped away a tear that had fallen down his cheek, that smile he had before finally returning to his face. “Thank you. Oh, how rude of us, my name is Pastor James Markensen, this is my wife, Linda. Is there a name we may call you?”

“Castiel,” he said, moving his hands away to hold his hands in front of himself. “Pastor James, I am sorry to ask, but do you have any clothes I may wear?”

“It might be bit big on you,” he grinned, clapping his hands over his stomach, “but I’m sure I have something for you, Castiel.” The old man went back towards his office, not running nearly as fast as he had previously, but obviously still in a hurry.

Castiel looked to his wife, noticing that she had relaxed some since he had spoken with her husband, and smiled. “Thank you for your kindness, Linda. You and your husband are truly wonderful individuals.”

“I am sorry that I feared you,” she murmured, her voice just as soft as before but not as strained, not as on edge. “You are welcome to stay as long as you may need.”  
Man truly was a wonderful creation.

After receiving the clothing, Castiel excused himself to a separate room to get changed. He pulled on the black trousers, rolling the waistline of the pants down to help them fit a bit better. Then he stared down at the shirt. With his wings he wasn’t sure how to make it fit… He gave a small sigh as he ran his hand through his dark hair. Surely the pastor wouldn’t mind if he had to make some...modifications. 

A few minutes of struggling and tearing later, the angel somehow managed to get his wings through the two makeshift holes he made in the back of the shirt. He got the buttons done up and gave a small sigh of relief. When he was sure he looked presentable he walked back out to the main room of the church, smiling again at the couple before him  
“I...apologize for the shirt,” he said a bit sheepishly, turning so they could see the tears in the fabric around his wings. “I can replace it once I get a hang of things.”

The preacher waved his apology off, his smile still in place. “It’s nothing, just a material possession. The fact that you are here means so much more.” He looked at his wife, and for the first time Castiel felt a bit of tension. “We...were hoping you would stay a while. We have a prayer group meeting today, it would be wonderful if the others could meet you. W-we can provide you with dinner and lodging if you have no other place to stay.”

Castiel was sure he looked positively startled. “You want me to stay?”

“It would be our honor.”

 

There was a “prayer group” meeting every day that week. The preacher had invited various guests, from the old congregation to any new guests that he felt were questioning their faith. Castiel didn’t really mind, he’d always enjoyed seeing people practice their faith. And if some people had to see him to believe, then so be it. After all, the preacher was kind, he meant well. 

After everyone from the sermon that night had left--all thanks to a lot of coaxing from the preacher--Castiel found himself alone in the church. It was a lot to take in, and he found that his body was not made to endure much stress day after day. He declined the preacher man’s offer to be put up in a hotel, instead opting to stay in the church office. There was something comforting about being in the church, like it was the next best thing to home that there was.

He settled on the sofa the best he could with his wings, laying on his stomach with his head nestled on his crossed arms. He had never had to sleep before, so he wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with the whole concept. But comfortable with it or not, his body was on the verge of exhaustion from all the physical--and albeit emotional--exertion from the day. So for the first time in his life, Castiel slept. Looking back, he wished he never had.

While he was asleep someone picked the lock to the church. He was woken by the office door opening and the sudden onslaught of voices. He didn’t recognize a single one of them, sending a wave of panic over him.

“There it is!” One said, voice hushed but obviously excited.

“I thought those guys were just fucking with us holy shit,” another gasped, his words somewhat slurred.

Castiel picked his head up, and was faced with a group of three men, all of them holding something in their hands and none of them with eyes as kind as the preacher’s. He swallowed thickly, and jumped to his feet, his body shaking. This wasn’t good. His body was weak, borderline exhausted, he couldn’t possibly defend himself.  
“What do you want?” He asked, surprised by how strong his voice remained.

“Well we want you, pretty. Boss needs a new act,” the first man said, hands on his hips, and looked the angel up and down, “and I’ll be damned, that hunter was serious. C’mere, let’s get a closer look at those wings.”

He shook his head, stepping back each time the other man stepped forward until he hit the desk, causing several paperweights and picture frames to fall over. “Act?” He echoed, brows furrowed.

A shorter man smirked, cocking his head at him as he swung a bat back to rest on his shoulder. “You’re lookin’ at the muscle behind ‘The Devil’s Tent of Wonders,’” he said, gesturing wildly to the other man with his free hand. “We work for a certain Crowley, who we’re sure would just love to have a pretty little exhibit like you for the show.”

“N-no thank you,” Castiel stammered, only looking away from the shorter man when he realized another was stepping closer to him. “I would much rather stay here,” he said quickly, muscles tensing the closer he got.

“Well see, we aren’t really askin’. Now either you can come with us and not make a scene, or-” he stopped to look at the man beside the window, giving a nod. The man he signaled to grinned, and swung his own bat as hard as he could, effectively shattering one of the office windows.

Castiel stared wide eyed at the damage, mouth hanging open. He couldn’t let this happen. The Markensens had treated him so well, had taken care of him, he couldn’t let them suffer because of him. He swallowed the lump building in his throat, and pushed himself away from the desk. “Okay,” he murmured.

“Good boy. Now hold out your hands--don’t think for a damn second that we trust you to go along with us.”

They wrapped a thick rope around his wrists and around his ankles, binding them together and rubbing his skin raw. Another decided to tie his wings together, tearing a rather painful cry from the man as the large, black wings were forced together, feathers ripping from them from the pressure of the rope. When they were sure he wasn’t going to pose any more problems the strongest of the men threw him over his shoulder, following the others back outside.

He was thrown into the back of a truck, while the others sat in the cab. Even with the barrier between them he could hear them, their loud, practically barking voices, that hideous laughter. The angel stared up at the sky, trying desperately to at least mentally remove himself from what was happening.

This was a nightmare, wasn’t it? That was a thing that some people had while they slept. Maybe he would just wake up on the office’s sofa to the smell of the preacher’s coffee like he had the previous nights. 

But was pain apart of nightmares? Was fear?

Castiel was sure his heart was going to burst out of his chest with how hard it was beating. For the first time since he fell, he was genuinely afraid. He was on edge at first with the hunter, even a bit with the church folk, but nothing like he was now. Now, he was faced with the thought of his own mortality. Since he fell, his grace was diminishing. It had healed his other wounds, but he wasn’t sure he had enough to sustain anything they might do. He felt something wet drip down his face and frowned, bringing his hands up to touch his cheek. 

He was crying. 

He wanted to go back to the church, go back to the little family he’d built in the short time he was there. What would the preacher do when he noticed the window? He wouldn’t think that Castiel had done that, would he? What if he was angry with him? What if Castiel did manage to get away, would he let him return? After all he was the reason people were going to the church more. Now that he no longer had his angel, would the congregation diminish once again? 

By the time the truck stopped again he had successfully put himself in a panic, his body shaking and tears uncontrollably falling down his face. He didn’t fight them as they pulled him from the truck bed, the men tossing him around like they would a rag doll. Castiel closed his eyes, doing his best to get it together before he was dropped onto the ground. He was sure the air had been knocked from his lungs when he hit the dirt, his eyes flying open in surprise.

“What have you goons done?” A foreign man chastised, his voice smooth as silk. “Didn’t I tell you to be careful? You know how important this is to me.” Castiel looked towards the voice to see someone walk towards him, his gaze locked on his probably expensive shoes. “Hello there, angel. Comfy?”

Castiel stared up at the man, his breathing finally under wraps, and cocked his head at him. The man was wearing a suit, shoes shined and suit pristine despite the fact that he was sure the tents he saw were set up in the dirt. He had a smirk on his face that caused the angel’s blood to run cold. 

“Come now, say something. After all, we’re family now, pet.” He crouched down in front of him, and set a hand under his chin to tilt it up towards the light, turning it this way and that. “Ah, what a pretty face. You’re sure to bring in a whole new sort of crowd.” He stood up straight again, brushing off his suit, and nodded to the others. “There’s a spare cage in the animal tent. Put him in there until we know he’ll cooperate.” 

“Yessir, Crowley.”

Instead of throwing him over his shoulder again the two taller men each took an arm, dragging him away from the main tent. The further they got away from Crowley the worse everything seemed. There were people hanging around outside, some huddled around a fire drinking away the night, others murmuring amongst themselves about the “new meat.” Castiel could smell booze, people who obviously hadn’t showered in a very long time, and the worst of it--the animals.

He was sure he smelled the tent before he saw it. Animals were crammed into cages barely bigger than themselves, stuck sharing their space with food in various levels of decomposition and their own filth. The cages desperately needed cleaned, same as the creatures that inhabited them. There were typical “circus” animals, like an elephant, a tiger, a couple lions, but further in the tent, further away from the light of day, what he saw made his blood run cold.

There were creatures in those cages, creatures people had only told stories about. There was an ancient being, tall and impossibly thin, with nearly translucent skin and large, black eyes, shrieking as Castiel was dragged past. In another was a person, seemingly normal until they opened their mouths to show their razor sharp teeth. Another held a young man, sitting curled in a ball with scraps of skin surrounding him in his cage. He cried out as he lurched forward, several teeth falling out of his mouth.  
In the cage closest to the empty one designated for Castiel was a man in a suit. He had a dead look in his ancient eyes, his skin pale and wrinkled over a practically completely skeletal face.

Then there was Castiel’s new home. It was a small cage that went up to his hips, the bottom of it covered in barely dried blood, the smell of death emanating from it. The smaller of the men carrying him knelt down to open the front of it for the other, before he shoved Castiel into the small space. His breath hitched as his wings caught on a bar, the rope still digging painfully into the feathers. At least they had the decency to cut the ropes securing his wrists and ankles.  
Castiel curled into himself the best that he could, his knees bent uncomfortably to his chest and his arms wound around himself. For the first time since he’d fallen, he missed his brothers and sisters. For the first time since he’d fallen, he regretted leaving Heaven.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter just to get things rolling with the Winchesters

“Dean, look at this,” Sam said, tilting the screen of his laptop back so his brother could see it from where he stood.

Dean ducked his head down to get a better look, his brows furrowed. “What the hell am I looking at?” He finally asked, standing straight and crossing his arms over his chest. There was some article about a circus on the screen, the page full of pictures from the show and all the members.

“Okay, so this place has been up since last year, but it never got much business. Well about a month ago they got a new attraction, some kinda ‘winged man’ they’re calling him-”  
“Sammy if you want to go to the circus then go,” he teased, the corner of his lips curling up in a smirk, “but don’t come cryin’ to me when the clowns get you.”

The younger man gave his brother a dirty look, reaching back to throw a light punch into his stomach. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, sitting straight in his chair again. “And I’m not scared of clowns, I’m a grown man,” he grumbled, looking at his screen now instead of at Dean.

“Alright, alright, you’re not a big baby. Now get to the point, Sam.”

“Fine. Ever since they got this guy things are dying. The grass surrounding the place is dead, the trees that surround the place are wilting, people have even reported feeling sick when they got there. I think this guy might be causing all of this.”

“How?” He asked, again leaning down to look at the computer screen. There weren’t many pictures of this winged man, just one somewhat blurry picture someone submitted themselves. He didn’t exactly look...paranormal. He had big black wings, but for all they knew they were fake. “Look, I don’t think we have anything here. It’s just a dude with some angel wings thrown on. It’s probably just something in the air making people sick.” Dean turned from his brother to flop back onto his motel bed, arms crossed under his head. “We aren’t gonna drive all the way to Kansas for some stupid circus act.”

Sam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “We have nothing else to go on, Dean. We haven’t had anything in weeks. So what if it’s just a hoax--what if it’s not?” He sat back from the small desk beside the television to turn and look at his brother, his arm draped over the back of his chair. “It’s worth checking out.”

The older Winchester boy pursed his lips, gaze locked on the ceiling. It wasn’t like Sam to get so heated about something like this. But he knew that if he felt this strongly about it, if they didn’t go he would probably never hear the end of it… He sighed before pushing himself to his feet. “Fine fine fine. Let’s go check it out then. If we leave now we can get there by tomorrow’s show, right?”

He visibly perked up, and nodded, a smile on the young man’s face. It’d been only two years since he left Stanford, so Dean was glad he seemed to be adjusting. They both packed up what little they had before Sam set out for the main office and Dean went to get the Impala. It was going to be a long, long night.

 

Dean drove all night back to their hometown of Lawrence, Kansas, stopping only for gas and the occasional piss break. While he would have preferred to sleep like Sam had in the passenger seat, he didn’t really mind. He was more of a night owl anyway--and this way he got the chance to gather his thoughts.   
What if this really was an angel? When he was a kid his mom would always tell him “angels are watching over you.” If an angel was really going along with something like this, he could only imagine what other things they would do. It was a bit disappointing actually. His mom always loved angels, found comfort in the idea of them, and now this guy was making a mockery of it all. She would have been so upset.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, feeling how long the scruff on his jawline had gotten, and decided he would need to shave whenever they checked in to another motel. Dean gave a small yawn before dropping his head to one side, cracking his neck this way and that. They’d just exterminated a nest of vampires up in Oregon, and it’d taken a lot of energy out of him. Those little fuckers were nasty to get rid of.

The sun was just rising when he pulled into the parking lot of a motel on the edge of town. There was a motel, a diner, a gas station, then nothing but houses in sight. If he remembered correctly, if they continued on this road they would reach the “business district”--a strip mall full of shops and a couple grocery stores and restaurants. It was a small, shitty town, but with the blend of colors in the sky and the warm, morning light shining on everything...it made it seem just a little better. It made it feel like a more worthwhile hometown. 

He cut the engine to the Impala, then leaned back in his seat, rubbing his hands over his eyes. There were dark circles under his eyes, standing out from his slightly tanned skin. He yawned, then reached over to shove Sam, effectively waking up the younger man with a start.

“C’mon, Sammy. I’m gonna go check in, then I’m gonna get some shut eye. Go talk to some locals or something.”

When he was sure his brother wasn’t going to try to doze off again, he got out of the car, groaning happily as he stretched his long legs. He stretched his arms high above his head, in pure ecstasy when he felt his back crack. That bed was calling his name.

Dean wasted no time in getting a room, and going straight to the bed farthest from the door. He quickly kicked off his boots, then tossed his leather jacket onto the bed before dropping his jeans. The man flopped face first onto the covers, wrapping his arms around one of the pillows and pulling it so it rested under his head. A happy sigh left him as his body practically deflated into the bed. When he heard Sam open the door he didn’t look up, but simply told him to only wake him up if he brought food.

 

A few hours later he woke up to a bag being thrown at his back, making him jump and jerk back so he was sitting up, hands up in a defensive position. When he realized it was Sam he pouted, tossing a pillow at his brother’s face before relaxing against the headboard. He picked up the bag that hit him, visibly brightening at the sight of a big, greasy burger.

“Ah, Sammy, you’re too good to me,” he said, already unwrapping the atrocity, and took the biggest bite of it he could manage. “Find anything?” He asked around his mouthful.  
His brother wrinkled his nose, and shook his head as he took a seat on his own bed. “I spoke with some locals at the diner, a few of them went to the show-”

“Are there clowns?” Dean grinned, leaning his head back as he took another bite.

“No. I don’t know. Shut up,” Sam threw his pillow back at him, acting much like the kid brother Dean knew and loved. “Anyway, they went to the show and they think this guy is legit. They saw him up close and it didn’t look like any costume they’d ever seen.” 

The older of the men sighed, and set the remaining half of his burger down so he could cross his arms. “Then I guess we have to go check it out. Do they have any idea where he came from?”

Sam perked up, as if just remembering something, and shook his head as he dug in his pockets. “No, but-” he rummaged a bit more before pulling out a flyer, unfolding it before handing it over to his brother. It looked like a missing persons ad, but instead of a picture of the person, there was an artists rendition of a man. “Look familiar to you?”

Dean glanced up at his brother from behind the flyer, one brow raised. “Uh...a sad looking guy? That’s pretty much every person we’ve ever dealt with ever. Probably just some guy having a mid-life crisis and ran away from his family.”

“It doesn’t sound like it’s his family looking for him then,” he said, snatching the paper back before dialing a number in his phone. He held it out for his brother to hear, an almost smug look on his face.

“You’ve reached Pastor James Markensen’s desk. I’m not available at the moment, but-”

“A priest?” Dean asked, closing the phone before tossing it back. “Okay, so a priest is looking for a guy. Maybe he worked for his church.”

“Only one way to find out.” Sam stood and went to get the suits he’d rented from the Impala. “Get dressed, Officer Parsons. I told him the police wanted to speak with him again, get the full story on this guy.” 

Dean groaned before practically throwing himself off the bed.”I hate those damn monkey suits,” he grumbled, already pulling his shirt over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll get the next chapter up tomorrow!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd, any mistakes are my own

Life in the tents was like nothing he could have imagined. He didn’t have access to running water, to food that wasn’t either deep fried or rotting...or both in some cases...he didn’t even have the chance to bathe. If he wasn’t in his cage he was on stage, surrounded by strangers that only wanted to ogle his wings. He’d been stripped of his shirt, allowing the masses to see how his wings were directly connected to his shoulder blades, how they truly were a part of him.

Crowley didn’t like to let him out. He said he didn’t trust that the angel would stay put. There were a few times in the beginning when he had tried to leave, tried to run away from this place, but he was always caught. When he was caught...well he learned to stay put.

The ring leader was a cruel man. He never touched Castiel himself, but he would stand before him as he had others torture the man. There were whips that sliced through his skin like paper, a metal rod that they heated in the fire before pressing it against his flesh. Weeks into his life in this circus, his skin was covered in imperfections. There were burns that lined down his spine from dragging the rod down each vertebrae, bruises that were always replenished whenever they faded, and scars from being cut that lined his arms, his legs, even his ribs.

Then there was the branding. Every member of the circus had one, though most got it in the form of a tattoo. Castiel wasn’t so lucky. They’d tied him down to a metal table, even his wings were pressed flat to his back, binded by heavy rope. He nearly bit through his bottom lip as they pressed the brand to the tended skin just below his waistline. The searing pain was almost worse than the rod with how deeply they seemed to press it in.

Crowley again simply watched on as another man inflicted the brand, marking the angel permanently. He smirked and stepped closer after the metal was taken from his skin, looking over his employee’s handiwork. When he noticed the pained look on his face he knelt down to his level, that same look on his face.

“Come now, pet, it wasn’t that bad,” he said, setting a hand on top of his head. When Castiel still didn’t look at him he frowned, and stood again, reaching towards his wings. He plucked one of the black feathers from its place, eliciting a pained gasp from the angel below him. He twirled it between his fingers a moment before dragging it along Castiel’s cheek. “It’d do you good to look at me when I’m talking to you. If you don’t, well, I was thinking how nice it’d be to sell some angel feathers after the show.”

Crowley lived up to that threat. Each time Castiel did something to anger him, whether it be not getting out of his cage fast enough or saying how he didn’t want to perform or he asked for something as trivial as water, the man would take a feather.

By the time he’d been with the show a month, he must have lost at least a hundred feathers. His wings looked brittle, broken. He was getting weaker. He’d already used up so much of his grace, he didn’t want to use what was left on his injuries. Castiel could survive, he could prove that humanity was worth saving.

He rocked himself gently in his cage, staring down at the metal holding him. There was so much blood, some from the previous tenant, but he was sure a majority of it was from himself now. He kept the bottom of his face buried in his arms, his eyes wide, almost wild as he looked around the tent. Since he’d been taken they gained some more acts, but lost just as many. Creatures died, whether from the treatment from the others or their own bodies going out--some had managed to off themselves.

Castiel would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered it. He wasn’t sure where he would go when he died. He assumed purgatory, maybe even Hell. He certainly wouldn’t be allowed back in Heaven. And even if he was he wasn’t sure he would want to go back--not if it meant having to listen to his brothers and sisters tell him that they were right, that humanity wasn’t worth their spit. They’d always made fun of him for that. They would say he was too soft, that he had fallen in love with humanity. He’d never understood how they could be so cynical.

Yes, there were bad people--that much had been made obvious to him--but there were also good, wonderful, selfless people like the pastor and his congregation. He’d missed them so much. He knew it wasn’t likely that they cared for him as much as he did them, but he was alright with that. All that mattered was that they knew how thankful he was to meet each and every one of them. He hoped that they were all alright.

He only picked his head up when he heard someone calling to him, their voice hushed but still loud enough to get his attention. He looked towards the source, and saw a young woman in a cage just a few yards from his. Her hair was still somewhat clean, not full of dirt and grease like the others had, and her eyes still had life in them. Poor thing was new.

“Hey,” she said again, brows furrowed, obviously impatient with Castiel’s lack of listening skills, “I asked what I’m doing here. This isn’t a normal circus is it?”

The angel could only shake his head, having given up on speaking long ago. Speaking only made Crowley and the others angry. There was one day a couple weeks ago that had become so fed up with what he was saying, they’d decided to pluck a feather for every word that left his mouth.

The girl pouted, amazing the angel with just how calm she was being, and crossed her arms over her chest. She gave a small huff as she leaned back against the bars of her cage, fitting in hers much better than Castiel in his with her petite frame. She let her head loll to the side, leaving it up to the metal bars to hold her up.

“So are you a real angel?” She finally asked, looking him over. He nodded and she gave a small smile. “Wow...so all that stuff is real,” she murmured, mostly to herself he assumed. “I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised considering I’m a shifter I just thought… sorry, I uh...I just thought that ‘God’ wasn’t real. I mean, what kind of ‘God’ would make something like me, right?”

He managed a small smile for her, and gave a shrug. Castiel took a hesitant look around before clearing his throat. “He did make a lot of...interesting things. Have you ever seen a platypus?”

“Oh my--is that an actual joke? I’m amazed,” she grinned, bringing her knees up to her chest. “I’m Amelia.”

“My name is Castiel.”

There was silence then. A mostly comfortable silence. After a few moments Castiel lowered his chin onto his knees, arms wrapped around his legs now so he wasn’t burying his face. “Amelia?” He called, waiting until she looked up at him. “I am sorry that you’re here.”

It seemed that things were getting even worse than they had been--if that was possible--and the last thing he wanted was for more innocent people to get included.

 

Dean knocked on the front door of the chapel, doing his best to resist the urge to pull at his suit, loosen it or make it more comfortable in any way. When the door opened he held up his badge, giving the frail looking woman a nod.

“Officer Parsons, this is Officer Roads. We’re here to speak with the Pastor. Is he around?”

She nodded, stepping back to allow them in, and called for her husband. The old man came to greet them, a somber smile on his face. “Thank you so much, officers. I was afraid the police had given up the search.”

Dean only nodded as he shook the man’s hand, pocketing his badge. “Thank you for meeting with us. Now is this your...son that is missing?”

He looked almost sheepish as he rubbed his hands down the front of his trousers. “No, uh, he was more of a friend really. A very dear friend.” Dean sure didn’t miss that smug look on his brother’s face. “It was the darndest thing. He was staying in my office while he was here, slept on the sofa as far as I knew, he always said no to staying in a motel. He seemed to have enjoyed the church, but one morning I come in and he’s gone, the window’s broken, and my things are knocked off of my desk. Now I may not have known him long, but I know Castiel is better than that-”

“I’m sorry, what did you say his name was?” Dean asked, brows furrowed, and closed his eyes a moment.

“Castiel,” he repeated, like it was the simplest of things. “Now I’m worried about him. He’s...well he’s not like any person you’ve ever met before, gentlemen. He’s a good man, he wouldn’t have done this.”

They both nodded a bit slowly, neither of the brothers sure if they believed this man or not. He probably meant well, but plenty of people had trusted someone they shouldn’t have and gotten burned by it. This guy was probably one of them.

“Pastor James, have you heard of ‘The Devil’s Tent of Wonders?’” Sam asked, pulling out the article he’d kept in his jacket pocket. “There was news of a new act there that started around the same time as you lost your friend.”

The old man frowned as he looked at the pages in front of him, his brows furrowed. “I thought I heard some of the younger kids talking about this...something about it being full of monsters,” he mumbled, looking up at the Winchesters with wide eyes. “You don’t think they could have taken my friend do you?”

“Who’s to say he didn’t go willingly?” Dean countered, one brow raised. He wasn’t buying it--that some guy was too good or too pure or whatever to pass up having hundreds of fans.

“You don’t know him like I do, Officer. Castiel is-”

“-a good man, I get it.”

He seemed to wilt at his words, his shoulders sagging and nothing but sadness on his aging face. “Please, you don’t understand.” He held the second page up to them, pointing with a shaking hand at the picture. “These wings? They’re Castiel’s. I know they are, I would know them anywhere.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, brows furrowed, and cocked his head at him. “Your friend had a habit of putting on some costume wings?”

“No no no, of course not. You see, Castiel...well Castiel is an angel. He came to our doorstep after he’d fallen. He was so lost, so scared. I can’t imagine how he’s feeling now.” James looked back at his wife, looking almost defeated before turning back to the Winchesters. “Now, I’m not a young man anymore, Officers. I can’t go charging in there with the cavalry and save him. I’m not expecting you both to believe me, but if you could just go there and look for him? Make sure that if it is him that he’s okay?”

Sam gave his brother a look before he could speak, effectively silencing whatever smartass remark he was going to make, before looking back to the Pastor. “My colleague and I will take a look. If your friend is there, we’ll have a word with him. We can give him your number.”

He visibly brightened, his eyes shining with the threat of tears. “Thank you. And please tell him he is always welcome here. We miss having him around.”

The Winchesters left the church after exchanging their information, leaving them with the promise of getting Castiel to contact them, before taking the Impala back into town.

“I think they’re nuts, Sam. C’mon, an angel?”

Sam sighed as he loosened his tie, removing it completely then tossing it to the backseat. “I dunno, Dean. They seemed pretty convinced. Maybe it’s still worth checking out. Besides, remember what he heard? It’s ‘full of monsters.’ Can’t all be people in costume, you know that.”

The older brother sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. “Yeah, okay, whatever. We’ll hit up the show tonight, see if that guy is there, and if he is we’ll get him. Now what if we come across something else? We can’t exactly kill something in the middle of a performance, can we?” Dean stopped to think a moment, eyes focused on the road, before glancing over at Sam. “Wait, can we?”

“No, Dean. If there’s something else there they’ve gotta be keeping it somewhere, right? We can just find it after the show,” he said, now focusing on the pictures included in the article. He frowned, his brows furrowed, and cleared his throat. “Ah...Dean...I uh...I think they have a vampire.”

“Oh son of a bitch.”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! I would like to welcome you to the greatest freakshow on earth! We have real, genuine, dangerous vampires, werewolves, shape shifters, anything your little hearts may desire! And our newest addition to my little family of outcasts, an honest to God--pardon that joke there--angel! You won’t believe your eyes! Now sit back, relax, and enjoy the Devil’s Tent of Wonders!”

The ringmaster was dressed in a classic costume, all black with red lapels, tie, and coattails. His voice was deep, thick even with his Scottish accent. His eyes appeared almost black from the Winchesters’ place in the stands. The crowd was mostly full of teenagers, alternative kids who would do anything to seem unique, with the occasional family who probably just wanted to experience something out of the ordinary for the night. Though, the adults didn’t seem particularly interested.

Before they’d even entered the main tent they were greeted by large signs, covered in a spectacular array of colors, portraits of the acts they had. There were a few clowns roaming around much to Sam’s dismay, so they didn’t wander much before the show. They took note of the smaller tents off in the distance, some lit up from the inside by who they assumed were the main acts, and one much darker one farthest on the fairgrounds. Just like it had been reported all the grass was dead, the trees were wilting, and what few animals there were in view seemed sick. The air was heavy with sorrow, with death, but none of the other spectators seemed to take notice.

The beginning of the show was what one would expect from a circus--trapeze acts, a couple elephants, a lion tamer. For the first hour it seemed that they had been tricked. Then came on the freaks. The announcer warned that “things may get a bit graphic” as he brought on the participants for the “fight of the century.”

Brought into the center ring were two vampires, one obviously older, covered in caked on, dry blood, and the other young, fearful as it was shoved into the spotlight.

“As in our other shows, two enter the ring,” he announced, holding up a finger on each hand, before dropping one hand behind his back, “only one may leave. Now then, enjoy the show.”

It was like the Greeks, pitting two gladiators against each other for the sake of entertainment. It was violent, bloody, more disturbing than any horror movie anyone could imagine. Some spectators in the crowd hid their faces in their hands, others ran out of the tent. The Winchesters sat and watched in stunned horror. Monsters or not, this wasn’t right. There was no way anyone would be willing to participate in something like this.

After the younger one fell, his blood splattered all across the ground, the strong man returned to pull him from the tent.

“Looks like some of your crowd members couldn’t handle it. No worries, no people were harmed in the makings of my show,” he said, giving a wink to the crowd. “Now then! May I have a volunteer from the audience! Come now, don’t be shy!”

A young woman was pushed from her seat by her friends who all clapped and cheered as the ringmaster accepted her into the light. She was tall, with dark, curly hair which she kept tied up behind her head. Her darker skin seemed to shine under the warm light of the spotlight. She gave an awkward wave as the ringmaster wrapped his arm around her.

“Now then, what’s your name, love?” He asked, offering his microphone.

“T-Tia,” she stuttered, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her denim shorts.

“Tia, lovely name. Now, Tia, you don’t happen to have a twin sister, do you?” He asked, an almost sinister smirk on his face. When she shook her head he turned his full attention back to the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to see something amazing. Strong man, bring in our shifter.”

A small, pale girl was brought into the room, eyes wide and fearful, but otherwise compliant. She was brought to the ringmaster’s other side where she stood as tall as she could, only reaching his shoulders, whereas the other woman was at his eye level. She looked wildly around the tent, resting her gaze on the man and woman beside her.

“Hello, Amelia. This is my new friend, Tia. Beautiful isn’t she? Don’t you think it would be nice to look just like her?” The shorter woman nodded a bit stiffly, her muscles tense. “Go on then. Become my lovely assistant,” he said, pushing her more towards the audience.

Amelia stepped towards them, hands shaking, and swallowed thickly. She took one more look back at the volunteer before holding up her hands. She practically hissed, her nose wrinkling and brows furrowing as her fingernails fell from her fingertips. She reached forward and peeled the skin from her hands, letting it drop to the ground as she moved up to her arms. There was unnerving circus music playing as she doubled over, arching her back up as her spine seemed to grow. The shifter screamed as she reached behind her, pulling the skin from her back.

More members of the audience felt the need to leave, others looked sick as they covered their mouths with both hands. Tia looked to be more in shock than ill, while the Winchesters sat in stunned silence.

This...this was real. They had to put a stop to this. After the show they would have to exterminate the vampires, possibly the shifter, and any other creature they might have hiding in the back.

The shifter completed her act, was brought to stand beside the volunteer for comparison. Tia could only stare at the woman before her, an exact copy of herself, and found herself at a loss for words when the ringmaster asked what she thought. She shook her head as she went back to her seat, hushed apologies from her friends not even to get the look of absolute fear off of her face.

Crowley waved off the shifter with a soft “thanks love,” before turning back to the crowd. “It looks like my audience is dwindling. No worries, this next act will be worth staying. I bring you, our newest little bundle of joy, our gift from God, our real, live angel!”

When Castiel was brought into the ring, the Winchesters knew something was wrong. There was this air around him that reeked of sorrow, of death. He looked even less thrilled to be there than the young vampire had, and as far as the brothers knew, he wasn’t going to be forced into fighting anyone. His eyes held this sadness to them, and it was then that Dean realized the old pastor wasn’t lying. There was no way he was there willingly.

Castiel was made to spread his wings, to move them this way and that, and allow any curious audience member to feel them. Dean glanced at his brother, nodding once before going to join those in the ring. It was like he was an animal in a petting zoo, and it made Dean sick.

He waited until he was close to look the man over. His blue eyes were dull, cloudy almost, his skin pale and cheeks sunken. He looked incredibly malnourished with how his skin seemed to stretch over his protruding ribs and hips. He met Dean’s eyes, then quickly dropped his gaze.

Dean swallowed thickly, and stepped close enough to him that he could whisper in his hear. “We’re going to get you out of here,” he murmured, setting a hand on his arm. His skin felt so cold under Dean’s own warm touch. When he took a step back he gave him a reassuring squeeze before meeting the ringmasters eyes. He gave the shorter man a polite nod before going back to his seat.

“Think we’ll be able to find him after the show?” Sam murmured, making sure no one around could hear him.

Dean frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe we can catch him after he leaves the tent--see exactly where they’re keeping him. He’s probably with the others, so we’ll have to be ready to take them out.”

Sam noticed they were being watched, and frowned, looking down as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “They’re watching us. I’m gonna head outside, you stay for the rest of the show,” he said, holding the phone up to his ear. “I’ll text you if I see anything.” The younger brother got to his feet, and shuffled out of their row, apologizing softly to those he passed before quickly walking outside.

Dean sighed as he readjusted in his seat, resting his arms on his knees. He had a pistol tucked into the back of his jeans with a couple silver bullets, but nothing to take care of the vampires. They would have to make a stop by the Impala before they tried anything… He ran a hand through his hair, letting his grip linger a moment.

Angels were real. Angels could suffer, could feel pain and be on the brink of death. Why wasn’t Castiel in Heaven? Had he done something to get kicked out? Was it an accident? Would he even be able to go back if they saved him? It probably wasn’t a good idea for him to go back to the church if that was where he was taken from in the first place-

He was snapped out of his thought process by applause. The show had ended after Castiel was taken from the tent, and people were already starting to leave themselves. Dean got to his feet, and checked his phone, hoping for an update from Sam.

From: Sam 21:32  
Leader has Castiel, taking him somewhere, gonna try and intervene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm sorry


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any shitty formatting, I still don't quite get how the site works

Castiel didn’t know what he’d done to deserve salvation, but it had come to him in the form of a young man in a leather jacket with brilliant green eyes.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” he’d said, his grip on the angel gentle yet firm. He didn’t know where he’d come from or why he wanted to help him, but whatever his motives Castiel was sure his were better than Crowley’s. He watched him as he walked away, his wings giving a soft flutter of happiness. Then he remembered who was still by his side. The angel chanced a glance at the shorter man, his blood running cold when he saw the look on his face.

Crowley had heard the stranger. And he looked far from happy.

After the show he was removed from the tent, the man transporting him using far more force than necessary. They dragged him towards the storage tent when they were stopped by a tall, young man.

“Hi, um, I just wanted to tell you I really enjoyed the show, and-”

Crowley put on his best smile, slipping back into his ringleader position with ease. “Ah, well, glad to hear. Be sure to tell your friends all about it,” he said with a wink, his hands held behind his back. He looked positively chipper, but Castiel knew better. He saw how his muscles tensed, how his hands kept curling in and out of tight fists.

“Right. Would you mind if I asked you a couple questions? Like...what happened to that first guy? He’s not really dead is he?”

“Course not, all stage work.” He glanced back at Castiel and the others before nodding his head towards his tent. The two men that flanked his sides escorted the angel towards the ringleader’s tent, doing their best to make it seem more casual in front of the audience member.

“Where are you taking him?” The stranger asked, stepping after them and stopping in his tracks when Crowley stood in his way.

“Have to reward my star every now and then, don’t I?” Crowley grinned, cocking his head at him. “Better get on then--don’t want one of my monsters to catch you.”

With some distance between him and Crowley, Castiel took a moment to look around, desperately searching for the man that spoke to him in the tent. He had to be somewhere. He couldn’t give his word then just leave. Panic started to rise in his throat, causing his breathing to hitch then come in sporadic spurts. He knew he was going to be punished for this, for “causing a scene,” and for acknowledging what the other had said to him. Castiel felt his knees go out, leaving the two men to tighten their grip on him, and he felt his fear beginning to consume him.

When Crowley caught up to them he pushed the others forward, making them move faster into his tent, where they dropped the angel. Castiel pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, still trying to steady his breathing, when he was kicked back down. Instead of having his right hand men do his dirty work, Crowley had no qualms dealing it out himself now. He kicked him harder this time, the toe of his boot connecting with one of his ribs.

“You think you’re going to leave?!” He yelled, striking him again and again, until the angel was coughing up blood. “You two watch the entrance,” his voice was eerily calm as he moved around his tent, collecting tools as he went. “If anyone approaches, make them leave, I don’t care what you have to do.”

Castiel practically whimpered, curling in on himself on the ground. His fingers grazed his ribcage, cringing when he got to the lowest ones. They felt broken, and he was sure he didn’t have enough grace left to fix that. It’d taken everything out of him just to get through the dehydration. He turned his gaze up towards Crowley when his shadow came into view, his eyes widening at the surgical equipment in his hands. The man crouched down in front of him, his eyes pitch black.

“You thought you could leave? Really? You thought that I would let you just walk away?” While he was calm at first his tone raised with each question, until he was practically spitting in his face. He wrapped a hand around Castiel’s throat, jerking him so the angel was sitting up now. “You’re bloody well out of your mind if you think you can leave here with those,” he said, eerily quiet as he dragged a hand along his wings.

The angel stared up at him, weakly pawing at his hand to get it away so he could breathe. When his grip tightened he gasped, his lungs contracting painfully in his chest. He was going to die, wasn’t he? Castiel had always wondered how people felt in their last moments, and now he understood. He was powerless, he was afraid, he was angry--angry at himself, at Crowley, at God--but most of all he was relieved. At least this way he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. He only wished he could see Pastor again. Or maybe the stranger with the most beautiful green eyes, the eyes that made him feel at peace, at home.

“The hell are you smilin’ at?”

Castiel turned his head up towards him, a weak smile on his face, and gave the best shrug he could manage. “I only wish I could thank him.”

“Him? Him who?”

“The righteous man. Because of him I know now--humans are still good.”

 

Dean found his brother in the crowd, a newfound sense of urgency when he saw the look on his face. “What happened?” He asked, voice low so no one else would pay the two any mind.

“They took him somewhere, three of them, and the leader didn’t seem very happy.” Sam nodded towards one of the larger tents, just the outside of it infinitely more well put together than any others in sight. “Two of them are guarding the outside, the leader is inside with Castiel.”

“Shit,” the older sibling breathed, already heading towards the tent. Plan, they had to have a plan, they couldn’t just go running in shooting everyone. If they took down the leader they would have to take down the lackeys, and if they took down the lackeys every last creature there had to be exterminated. There didn’t seem to be many audience members still loitering around, and any that were were near the entrance.

“Dean? What are you doing?” He called, following after his brother. “Dean, think this through, we’re not going to just burst in there and take the guy away.”

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Dean snapped, glaring up at Sam when he stood in his way. “He’s dying, Sam. Whether this guy is a real angel or not he’s dying, and it’s our job to save people. So goddammit I don’t care what it takes, we’re going to save him.”

Sam frowned, his brows furrowed, and glanced over his shoulder at the tent. He gave a small sigh, and rubbed his hand over his face. “Okay, okay...what do we do about the two outside?”

Just as Dean was about to answer a blood curdling scream ripped through the air. Dean swore under his breath before breaking into a run, calling over his shoulder, “Shoot first, ask questions later!” He pulled the revolver from the back of his jeans, slowing down to aim as he approached the others. He shot the first in the shoulder as the mammoth of a man came barreling at him, then got him again in the chest. It didn’t stop him, but it slowed him enough for Dean to get around him. He brought his leg up, then dropped his foot down hard against the back of his knee, causing him to fall to the grass.

Sam took care of the other, and nodded to Dean, signaling to him that he would keep an eye on the two. The elder Winchester tore into the tent, his blood running cold at the scene before him.

Castiel was on his knees, hunched over a crate, while the leader stood above him, one wing already discarded beside the two. Crowley threw the hacksaw aside, and stood at his full height, hands gripping the edge of the still attached wing. Just then he jerked it away from Castiel’s body, the wing ripping away from his flesh with a sickening crack. The angel cried out again, the tent and all its inhabitants shaking with the force of his angelic power tearing through his vocal cords.

Crowley collected the wings in one arm, and stood straight, looking directly at Dean. “He’s all yours now, darling,” he smirked, and held up his free hand, disappearing with a snap of his fingers.

Dean could only stare down at him, his heart in his stomach, and let his gun fall from his trembling hands. He’d seen a lot of things in his life--werewolves rip people apart, shifters torture women disguised as their loved ones, malevolent spirits slaughter anyone that crossed their paths, and people that killed others just for sport--but this? This would be burned into his mind, into his very soul, because he knew that it was his fault.

He swallowed thickly, his brows furrowed, and slowly stepped closer to the angel. “Cas? ...Castiel?” Dean crouched down beside him, wide eyes moving along his body. Up close he was even worse. There were scars and cuts running along his back, his side and ribs badly bruised from blunt force, and two gaping wounds where his wings once rested.

Castiel lifted his head the best he could, his body shaking violently, and looked up at the other man. He had a cut on his cheek and his nose was bleeding, but it was his eyes that stood out to Dean. They were strikingly blue, but appeared to be fading before him, his gaze almost lost as he looked around the room. Then they meet Dean’s, and the man was sure he’d felt his heart stop. A faint smile graced the angel’s lips, and tears started to fall from his eyes.

“So you actually came for me,” he murmured, his voice so soft Dean had to lean closer to catch what he said next. “My righteous man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ........ :D again, I love comments and my tumblr is imbadatnamesbutihaveanicebutt. next chapter might take some time since I don't have anything else prepared and I won't really be home this weekend buuuut maybe I can be bullied into getting something out faster~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit less hectic this chapter, I wanted to delve more into Dean's mind

“Sam either drive faster or pull over, he’s bleeding out back here!” Dean snapped, hands pressed flat against the angel’s back. The two were in the backseat of the Impala, Castiel laying across the other’s legs. He had passed out shortly after he was taken from the tent, his body finally giving up on him.

“Dean, maybe we should take him to a hospital-”

“And say what, Sam?! ‘Yeah it’s the darnest thing he had some extra appendages that were just torn right off! Can you fix him?’”

Sam frowned, glancing at his brother in the rearview mirror. It wasn’t that Dean didn’t care about people, didn’t take others into consideration, but he looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown. The wounds were bad, sure, but they’d seen worse. As far as Sam knew his brother showed up and found Castiel like that.

Dean stared down at the man in his lap, face pale and brows furrowed. They couldn’t just let him die--he was pretty sure if they let an angel die that meant going straight to Hell. Dean knew he was going that way anyway, but now...he let this happen. He took too long to save him, and because of his stupid mistake, Cas lost his wings. He swallowed thickly, and tossed aside the shirt he was using to put pressure on his wounds. There was a duffel kept in the backseat of the Impala, there had to be bandages or gauze or even rags, just something useful.

“Side pocket,” Sam said, always the calm one, his gaze lingering back to his brother. “Once we get back to the motel we can get something better for him, but for now just make it work. We’re almost there.”

The older Winchester boy nodded as he rummaged through the pocket, nearly sighing in relief when he found not only something to slow down the bleeding but to clean the wounds. “Cas, buddy, this is gonna suck,” he warned, bottle of alcohol in hand.

Castiel hissed at the contact to his wounds, snapped back into consciousness, and instinctively clutched at the other’s jeans. He buried his face in his thigh, muffling the groans that left his mouth. The pain was blinding, his entire back practically on fire. His muscles ached, his head was pounding, his shoulder blades were in pure agony, but he was alive. He was alive and he was safe. The angel pushed himself up onto his elbows, doing his best to breathe deeply, and turned his head to look at the other man. There were so many things he wanted to say, countless different ways he could express his gratitude, but when he caught his eye he was at a loss for words.

This man had saved him. This gruff, hardened man took it upon himself to take Castiel from his captors, to give him his life back. He was eternally grateful.

“Sam, he’s awake,” Dean said, a small, relieved smile creeping onto his face. “Cas, man, we’re gonna get you patched up, okay? A few stitches, some bandaids, and you’ll be good as new.

Castiel nodded slightly, taking in the nickname. No one had ever called him anything but his name, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like it. In fact, he felt his heart practically jump in his chest at the sound of this new name from the other man. “Dean,” he murmured, enjoying the feel of his name on his tongue, and gave another nod. He could handle that.

As soon as the Impala was parked outside the motel the two young men were helping the other inside--well, Dean helped him inside. The older of the brothers had his arm secure around Castiel’s waist, his other holding his arm across his shoulders. Sam opened the door for them, immediately setting out for their makeshift first aid kit after he shut the door. Cas was lowered to one of the beds, and Dean took a seat beside him.

The cleaning of the wound he could handle. The stitches he could not.

“I know, I know,” Dean grumbled under his breath, focusing on getting the wounds closed as efficiently as he could. He slid one hand over to the other’s ribs, holding him still the best he could, and glanced over at his brother. “Sam, go get some food. This guy looks like he’s about to keel over.”

When the two were left alone the room was filled with a comfortable silence, only the soft sounds of his needle moving through flesh and the occasional hitch of breath interrupting it. Once he was done Dean pushed off the bed, leaving Cas to go to the bathroom to wash his hands. As the blood ran down the drain his mind wandered back to earlier, the sickening snap of bones and feathers sounding in his ears. It was then that the silence became too much.

“Tomorrow we’ll call the pastor you were staying with--you probably shouldn’t go back there but he’ll want to know you’re okay. Oh and Cas-” he stopped as he stepped back into the room and noticed the soft rise and fall of his shoulders. Not that he could blame the guy, but he did wish he could have had a few minutes to talk to him. He had so many questions, so many thoughts that he knew would be keeping him up until he could get them out. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. It’d been a long, unnecessarily draining day. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands before moving up the bed, leaning his head back against the pillow. Dean draped his arm over his eyes, his other staying at his side. He didn’t hear Sam as he entered the room, he just let himself fall into blissful sleep.

When Dean woke up he was overwhelmed by the amount of heat beside him. He cracked open one eye to search for the source of warmth, his nose wrinkled in disdain. What he saw made his face soften somewhat. Cas must have moved closer to him during the night, because the angel was pressed into his side, his hand clutching the other’s sleeve. His other arm was tucked under him, cradling his head. Obviously it would take longer for him to heal, but even with just a good night’s sleep he was looking better, healthier.

He tried moving his arm out from under him, frowning when Cas didn’t seem to want to budge. Dean attempted another method, this time simply leaning over in hopes of being able to slip right out. Then he was pinned. Castiel moved even closer, his head resting on Dean’s collarbone, and his hand gripping the front of his shirt. The young man sighed, and rubbed his free hand over his face. There really was no point in trying was there?

He turned his head to look at the other, tucking his free arm under the pillow to prop himself up some. It’d been awhile since he slept beside someone--and even when he did he usually avoided staying very long after he woke up. It was...different. Good different, but different.

What was he thinking? This was a guy--no, an angel--and he wasn’t gay. So this wasn’t like sleeping with some conquest, it was like sharing a bed with his brother when they were kids. Nothing more.

Dean craned his neck some to make sure Sam was still asleep, and glanced over at the clock. 3 a.m. Usually when he woke up at that time he would go for a drive, see if there were any bars that were still open, and end up settling for some 24 hour diner for coffee. He’d come to terms with the fact that that wouldn’t be happening when he realized his predicament, but he still felt a bit at a loss. There weren’t many habits he kept, but with how crazy his life had been he did like to keep to the few he had.

He sighed again as he turned the best he could to face Cas, his arm still cradling his head. So this was an angel. Dean looked him over, allowing himself to take in each detail with his close proximity. His skin was pale but seemed to be gaining some color, his cheeks hollow and lips chapped. He had a strong jaw that was lined with stubble, and long lashes that nearly concealed the bags under his eyes as he slept. Castiel was tragic to look at, and yet he was still so beautiful.

Dean’s gaze fell to his lips, lingering there far longer than necessary. He leaned in slightly, but jerked back when he realized Cas was staring back at him.

“You’re awake,” he said lamely, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

Castiel frowned, his brows furrowed together, and cocked his head at him. “Yes,” he murmured, unsettling Dean with the suspicion in his eyes, “as are you.” He slowly pulled away the hand that had so tightly clung to him, his shoulders tensing in realization. “I’m sorry, I disturbed you.” He went to move back, giving Dean a curious look when the other kept him close, the arm that was previously pinned wrapping around his shoulders.

“

It’s fine, don’t worry about it. You uh, you must still be pretty on edge about everything, so I don’t mind.” What was he doing? “The whole physical contact thing helps doesn’t it?”

Cas nodded once, dropping his gaze between them to avoid meeting his eyes. He said nothing as he scooted closer, he barely even looked at the other.

Dean had no idea what he was thinking. This wasn’t normal, this was far from it, and yet...there was a sense of security that came with it. But even that sense of security scared the hell out of him. Sleeping with Cassie, with Lisa, with every woman he’d met over the course of his life, he was never able to sleep through the night. He always felt like he had to be on edge, be ready to jump into action, but with Cas...he felt calm. Must have been some kind of weird angelic energy. Yeah, that was it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> already working on the next chapter so it shouldn't take as long to update!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 years later and I'm back with a new chapter. I should be updating this again as well as Take Me to Church in the next week!

Castiel had never been touched so gently, so carefully, as though he were made of glass. With Dean by his side he almost didn’t know how to react. When he would watch the humans below he was always fond of the couples he saw, always found himself smiling at how they were with each other. He admired the way they cared for each other, reveled in their company. Cas always thought it must have been the best part of being human.

He’d woken up in a panic in the middle of the night, and frantically reached back to feel for his wings. When he felt the stitches his heart sank and his throat felt tight. He was safe, but… He rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes, then looked around the room. The events of last night came flooding back, causing a shiver to run down his spine. His breathing grew shallow, and he quickly placed his hand over his mouth to try and quiet himself. When he noticed Dean turn towards him he frowned, his face paling. He hadn’t meant to wake him up, the last thing he wanted was to disturb him. But then he noticed his eyes were still closed.

Dean had turned towards him in his sleep, reaching out to Cas. The angel stared down at the offered arm, furrowing his brows. He sheepishly moved closer to lay his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes as he did. This positive physical contact was so foreign to him--even when he was with the pastor he was never this close to another person.

When Dean finally woke up he was worried he would push him away, that he wouldn’t want the other so close to him. After all, who would want a broken angel? But instead of turning him away, he held him closer and assured him everything was alright. Since he’d fallen to earth he couldn’t remember a time he’d felt so safe.

Castiel slept peacefully the rest of the night, only waking up when he heard the others talking.

“I’m just saying, I don’t think it’s a very good idea to keep him with us.”

“Where else is he going to go, Sam? He can’t go back to that church, they’ll just find him again.”

“And that makes him our responsibility? Who’s to say he’ll even want to go with us? Honestly Dean, do you really want anyone else living the way we do?”

Castiel felt the other tense up beside him, causing him to tighten his grip around his shoulders.

“Okay, say we don’t take him with us. What do you think is going to happen? He’ll probably wonder why we even bothered saving him just to abandon him. Then he’ll try going back to the church. They’ll probably let him stay, sure, but what happens when that Crowley asshole figures out he’s back? He doesn’t have his wings anymore so he’s useless now. He might leave him alone, but he might kill him anyway. This is a demon we’re talking about, Sam!” He started rational, calm, but grew more and more upset as he went. By the time he brought up Crowley killing him he was nearly yelling, causing Castiel to frown and tighten his grip on him. He felt a hand on his back, just below his stitches. “We can’t just leave him, Sam.”

Cas could hear Sam sigh as he moved closer. “What if he does get killed, Dean?” He asked, his voice lower than before. “And not because of Crowley, but because of us. You know his odds are better if he stays here.”

“Well we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Castiel took that as his cue to try and end the conversation, and leaned out of Dean’s grip, mindful of his stitches as he stretched his arms above his head. The room felt less tense as he sat up, the cool chill of the motel replacing Dean’s warmth. He pushed himself to his feet though his muscles begged him not to, and nodded to the brothers.

“Castiel, uh,” Sam stopped, looking between his brother and the angel. “Sorry if we woke you, we were just...discussing some things. You need something? You and Dean were asleep by the time I got back, so if you wanted to you could shower then we could get breakfast.”

The mere idea of food was enough to make his stomach growl and he was suddenly all too aware of how hungry he was. Sadly with the way he probably smelled a shower had to be his first priority. He nodded to Sam before going to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. After a moment of struggling he got the shower started and peeled his trousers from his legs. Once under the hot spray of water he dropped his head, watching all the dirt and blood run down his body and into the shower drain. As he scrubbed away the last remnants of grime he saw just how pale his skin was and frowned.

It was only when the water grew cold that he stepped out of the shower, and wrapped a towel around his hips. He stared down at his pants a moment before leaving the bathroom, muscles tensing when both men turned to look at him again. Did he do something wrong?

“Right, uh,” Dean cleared his throat, and ran a hand through his hair before scratching the back of his head. “Let me just-” he stopped and went to dig through a duffel bag a moment before throwing something to Cas.

The angel managed to catch the clothing when it hit his stomach, his cheeks turning pink. He set them down on the desk beside him then pulled the shirt over his head. It was a bit loose on him, the fabric softened by years of wear and washes, the “AC/DC” lettering faded but still legible, and it smelled like motor oil and faint cologne, like the warmth of a fireplace in the dead of winter. It smelled distinctly of Dean. He pulled on the jeans then the jacket, nearly drowning in all the fabric.

“Thank you,” he murmured, fiddling a moment with the edges of the sleeves. It felt good to be clean again, to have a fresh set of clothes. Though he didn’t particularly care for the feel of the fabric against his stitches, didn’t like the reminder that something was missing, he was comfortable. “I...thank you,” he repeated, brows furrowed as he dropped his gaze from the brothers to the floor. There were no words for how grateful he was. “I understand if you want me to leave,” he finally said, not missing the way the two looked at each other. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Dean gave his brother a pointed look as he got to his feet, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. “You wouldn’t be a burden, Cas. Besides, you probably got information on that demon that could be useful. If we can get to him maybe we can get to ol’ yellow eyes, right Sam?”

Sam stared Dean down a moment, then sighed, his resolve crumbling. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Just...forget it. Let’s just go get something to eat and we can talk about that later. Castiel is probably starving, and I doubt he wants to talk about that right now anyway. Right?”

His shoulders tensed and he stood straighter, arms at his sides, and nodded after a moment. He needed fresh air. He needed fresh air, food, probably a doctor if he was honest with himself, but right now he would settle for just putting a stop to the conversation. Cas followed them out of the motel, squinting in the harsh sunlight, and rubbed his hands over his eyes. Most of the shows started at dusk, but even then Castiel wasn’t brought out until long after the sun had set. When his eyes finally adjusted he looked up at Dean. The man’s features were even more prominent than he’d first thought, with his strong jaw and bright eyes. Looking into his eyes made him feel like he was looking into the sun, but they were so much more beautiful.

It was only when Sam cleared his throat that he realized he was staring, and he quickly looked away again. “You got any preferences Castiel? Because if you don’t we’re gonna end up watching Dean put away more greasy diner food than should be humanly possible.”

“What can I say, Sammy? I’m a growing boy.”

Cas couldn’t help but smile at the two, his heart squeezing in his chest. They had found him, taken down guards, stood before a demon without batting an eye, then they were able to patch him up like it was nothing. They obviously didn’t have a normal life, they weren’t normal humans, but even with all of that, they could smile. They could laugh. Castiel had seen so many people suffer on earth, whether it was from war, illness, even other humans, and nothing hurt him more than seeing them give up on happiness. These two gave him hope.

The drive to the diner was short, filled with animated conversation between the two brothers while Cas sat silently in the backseat. Once inside they settled in one of the booths, and Cas looked at them a bit awkwardly. Dean slid in closer to the window to give him room to sit beside him, barely glancing at him as he finally sat down.

“Alright, Cas, pick your poison. Just know that whatever you order will definitely be the first thing I judge you on and that shit’s gonna stick.”

He frowned and cocked his head at the other, his brows furrowed in confusion. “That sounds vile, Dean, why would you want that?”

The older Winchester stared him down a moment, trying to decipher if he was being sarcastic or not before laughing. “Man, you are so awkward.” Sam kicked him under the table then, his long limbs causing the whole thing to shake, and Dean frowned. “What?”

“Dude, do we need to get you sensitivity training or something? Give the guy a break.” Sam glanced at Cas then, obviously somewhat wary. It was similar to the look Dean gave him when he woke up, that look of concern, like he was worried of how fragile the other man might be. Coming from Dean it was comforting, but from Sam… was he really in that bad of shape?

“C’mon, it’s just a little harmless teasing. It’s fine, right Cas?” The nudge to his arm almost made him cringe, Dean’s elbow knocking one of the fresher bruises on his skin, but he did his best to hide it. There was a newfound desire in him to keep his pain to himself, to make the two stop worrying about him. Seeing the looks in their eyes, it… it made him worry that he was more worse off than he thought.

“Right,” he mumbled, going quiet as the waitress approached the table. She took orders from the three of them--a burger for Dean, just coffee for Sam, and pancakes for Cas--then left them alone after giving the older Winchester a smile and a wink. Cas settled back in the booth, and absently picked at the frayed hole in the jeans he was wearing, gaze locked on the denim. He swallowed the lump in his throat, gathering his courage, before speaking up again. “I know that I’m weak at the moment, and I will likely cause some problems down the road, I would like to go with you. You are leaving town soon, aren’t you?”

The two were quiet at first, and when Sam started to speak his brother quickly cut him off. “Yeah, we are. Some friends asked for our help so we’re heading up to Nebraska once everything is settled here. You can come with us on one condition--whatever we say goes. If we tell you to stay in the motel, you stay in the motel. We tell you to hide, you hide. We tell you to make yourself useful-”

“I make myself useful. But...what does that mean?”

“I dunno, uh...researching things, beer runs, wingman-”

“Dean.” Sam snapped, putting his face in his hand.

“Right. That uh, that was probably a bad way to put that.” Cas had flinched at the mention of his wings, and felt his heart fall into his stomach. His stitches still ached, and his shirt grazing them, tugging on them, made his skin burn. Dean frowned, and fidgeted in his seat a moment. Cas didn’t have to look at Sam to know he was still giving his brother a dirty look. He finally reached over, wrapping his arm around Castiel’s shoulders, and gave the man a squeeze. “You good?” He finally asked, turning his head and ducking down some to look at him.

Castiel dared a glance at him, and felt his cheeks heat up at the look he was being given. “It’s fine, Dean. My wings are gone. I will never get them back, and that is...that is just something I have to accept.” A moment too late he realized the sting he felt in his eyes were tears, and before he could stop it one slipped down his cheek.

Dean sighed and pulled him in closer, his muscles tense as he held him. “Dammit, Cas, I’m sorry. Look, we can...I don’t know, maybe we can find the demon and get them back. You probably have some weird angel power that can patch you right back up, good as new.”

“Do you really think we can get my wings back?” Cas asked, finally looking up at Dean after he rubbed away the tears in his eyes. The grin that appeared on Dean’s face was dazzling, almost blinding, and Cas couldn’t help but give a small smile of his own.

“Yeah, man. We’ll find that sick son of a bitch and we’ll make him pay.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.   
> Feel free to come yell at me on tumblr at imbadatnamesbutihaveanicebutt.tumblr.com or leave a comment about how much I suck


End file.
